


Saints For My Angel

by j_gabrielle



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, that occurs offscreen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?thread=7292627#t7292627">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme: Richard is a business man, with a structured perfect life, and he likes it that way. He meets Dean (circumstances up to filler), a deeply troubled, depresive, suicidal and slutty young man with a dark past (warnings also up to filler). He's everything Richard doesn't want in his his life, but somehow, he can't get that blond wreck out of his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saints For My Angel

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened. Richard? Dean? If you're reading this, I am so, so very sorry.

The knock on the door at two in the morning could only herald one person. _Him_.

"Hey Richard." He said, leaning against the door frame. "You gonna let me in?"

By God, he wants to. There would be nothing more satisfying than slamming the door in Dean's face, watching the surprise (would he even _be_ surprised?) dawn on him. He could shut the door and put an end to all his misery and heartache. All the lonely nights spent waiting for him. Richard imagines that there could not be any _sweeter_ pleasure than to leave him standing on his front steps. Ignored. Forgotten. Just like how he has made him feel, how he always makes him feel.

"Come in before you bleed all over my porch." Is what he says instead. And he fucking hates himself for it. It's absurd, the level of sway that Dean has over him. He was a full-grown man, godammit! And he is... He's just...

Richard swallows, taking off his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He'll let him stay awhile and then ask him to leave. He has got a board meeting tomorrow with some of the main shareholders and he has got to be prepared to face a room of snakes.

Dean sheds his clothes like old skin, moving through his house like he belongs here. Richard thinks that he looks so very out of place in all the modern minimalism crap that his interior designer had insisted were all the rage in America. Dean is more... worn couches, battered wooden counter tops bearing battle scars. He's more the type to have a thousand books lining his walls, slipped under his bed, half-opened on coffee tables as he starts on a new one.

Richard frowns at that last train of thought, turning to follow the younger man into the bathroom. God, all this white... It's fucking hurting his head. 

"What did you do this time?" He asks, voice loud in the early morning air. The distant sounds of traffic could be heard from outside his window, but he pays it no mind; focusing on the way Dean grimaces as he pulls out of his shirt. It is then that he sees the way the dark dampness of blood makes his shirt stick to his skin. "What happened?" He is next to him like a shot, helping him take it off and dumping it into the bathtub. 

"He got mad." Was Dean's only answer. He has his eyes closed, biting down on his lip in a way that Richard has seen him do countless times before when he wants to stave away his bad memories. Richard is close enough to count each individual eyelash, is close enough to feel the chill of his skin. "He got mad." Dean repeats in a shaky whisper.

Richard says nothing in reply. Efficiently, he strips him of his remaining clothes, dumping all of them in the bathtub. Idly, he wonders if he could get Viola to be quiet about the blood on the tiles that she has to clean tomorrow.

Gently, he nudges Dean's slighter form into the shower, watching him like a hawk as he winces with every movement. The water washes away the sweat and grime. Richard thinks it must be hurting something fierce. Dean tilts his head to the shower head, letting the water flow in little rivulets that transverse his entire body, darkening his blonde hair. Richard lets his eyes linger, before pulling himself away from his thoughts and cataloging his injuries for the night. 

There are deep welts all across his back, crisscrossing like some kind of road map of the macabre. Fresh bruises flower vividly against the paleness of his skin, melding amongst the older yellowing ones. A couple of the welts have begin to fester and Richard cursed the bastard who did this. Somewhere in him, Richard burns to hurt.

Not thinking twice, he strips down out of his sleep clothes, stepping into the shower.

"Never thought you were one of the shower sex kind of guy." Dean chuckled when he felt himself be pulled into an embrace from behind. "But I'm sorry, Rich. As you can see, I'm out of order right now. Can't do much I'm afraid." He gasped when a sudden shift of his body position causes a flare of pain.

Richard cups his cheek, forcing him to look up at him. "Not everything between us is about sex." He insisted. "We... We could be more. If you'd let me." He murmurs, barely heard over the sound of the shower. It's an old argument; Richard wanting more from this and Dean with a bag of angry cats for emotional luggage.

Normally, Dean would sigh, pull away and leave like a bat out of hell. But tonight... Tonight he twists slowly in Richard's embrace, leaning his head over his chest. Listening to his heartbeat.

"If I let you, if we're... More. More than what we are now," He began cautiously, "What then? What happens then?"

Dean wraps his arms around Richard's waist. "If you'd let me, I'd take you away from here and I'll never let him hurt you again. I'll protect you. And I won't let you go. Ever." He presses a kiss to Dean's hairline, tasting the remnant of sweat. "You'll be mine, just like I am yours. And I will never leave you to be alone again."

Richard feels the hitch in breath rather than sees it. But from the way the arms around his waist tightens, he is sure that his words have somehow affected him.

"So you'll be my knight in shining armor? And I'm your princess?"

"Something like that." Richard closed his eyes, nosing against the slighter man. "If you'd let me."

Dean doesn't answer. He pulls away and slips by him to wrap himself in a fluffy towel from the linen shelf. Richard's eyes follow him as he picks up the first aid kit he keeps handy in the mirror cabinet, and picks his way to the bedroom.

"Well? I'm not going to be able to reach some of them." He says just as he walks out the doorway, and Richard is out of the shower dripping water everywhere.

He dresses Dean in his softest night shirt when he is done applying salve to each and every angry red line. He lies him down under the covers, and slips in next to him. Dean has his eyes closed, so Richard switches off the lights. 

"I'm not a princess, Rich." His voice whispers in the darkness, tinged with sadness and grief. Blindly, he reaches an arm out, and pulls Dean gently to him, mindful of his wounds. "I can't be... Normal. And I can't be perfect."

Scooting over until their foreheads touched, he whispers back fiercely, "I'll take whatever you want to be. Just as long as you'll let me in here." He touches his fingers to his chest.

Dean doesn't answer, but when Richard wakes in the morning, he's still there sleeping next to him. Unlike all of the other times when he'd snuck out like a thief in the night. Richard lets himself touch Dean's brow, pondering if he would like to go furniture shopping together.


End file.
